


A Night Under the Stars

by myglassesaredirty



Category: Princess Diaries
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, a collection of one-shots, haha yeah, ish, oh yeah nicholas makes me very emotional, that one night under the tree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2018-12-23 11:38:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11989026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myglassesaredirty/pseuds/myglassesaredirty
Summary: He loves her. That's the truth of the matter, the simplest possible answer. He loves her. And he will never stop loving her, even when - inevitably - she will stop loving him.





	1. I Dreamed a Dance

He had never seen such a beautiful summer night. The mist hung over the lake as if it was too scared to kiss the water, and the moon was bright and full. The air smelled crisp and clean, and the cool air settled on the nape of his neck.

He had never seen such beauty at a single point in time.

And she was staggeringly beautiful.

It wasn’t that she just had a beautiful face; no, her entire being radiated a beauty that no other beautiful thing could ever hope to match.

She was caring; she was hopeful; she was brilliant.

She was genuine.

And whenever they crossed paths, he was struck by everything she was all at once, and every time he came across her, she took his breath away.

He had been known as quite the ladies’ man, even among the palace. But ever since he met Mia…

He couldn’t see any other woman, noble or otherwise.

And he was in love with her.

He knew it, of course, and he knew that one day, whether he liked it or not, he was going to tell her.

The two sat on the dampened grass, competing in a thumb war.

“Tell me your greatest desires,” he said.

“Tell me a secret,” she responded.

As he answered, “Isn’t that the same?”, he realized that it was not, indeed, the same thing.

“Almost,” she said, as she tried to pin down his larger thumb with her significantly smaller one. “But anyone can see your desires. No one knows what’s in your heart.”

He wanted to keep it that way. One day, he would have to tell her that he loved her. Tonight, he would have to tell her that he wanted to be close to her again, this time just as Mia and Nicholas, as it once was.

But as for now, there were three things he could never tell her:

1\. He’d once had a brother and a sister. He never knew what exactly had happened to them; he just knew that he blamed himself.

2\. He read to escape the cruel reality of the world his life had become. Even at 21, he was still scared of his uncle. Even at 21, he remembered the words he had received from his uncle’s maid: “Your mother has left, and your siblings are gone.” Even at 21, his eyes blurred whenever he thought too long about his father.

3\. He hadn’t cried since the day his uncle had beaten him for it.

He had never wanted to hurt her. As his uncle pushed him to pursue the throne more and more, he also pushed Nicholas to hurt this incredible woman sitting before him. Nicholas had never wanted the throne. His uncle had always thirsted for power, and once Nicholas’s father died, the plan was set forth into motion to take the crown once Queen Clarisse stepped down. His uncle had caused so much pain in not just Nicholas’s life, but Mia’s as well, and Nicholas was sick of his uncle creating more pain to add onto the hell that was now his life.

He had taken “Mia 101.” After he had fallen in love, he realized that he truly knew nothing about Mia, and he needed to fix that fact. Without explanation, and against his common sense, he had grown to where he would do anything to please her. He had approached Joe and told him the entirety of the story, from the beginning until the present. Joe, though hesitant, agreed to tell Nicholas basic facts about Mia that could never be used against her. Her favorite color was soft pink, her favorite flowers were Baby’s Breath, her favorite film was Breakfast at Tiffany’s, her favorite actress was Audrey Hepburn, and her favorite dish was Bananas Foster.  
He only fell further in love with her.

But as for now, she had just told him that she loved I Love Lucy reruns (which he could not dare blame her for) and sometimes she dreamed in black-and-white (something he knew absolutely nothing about, relative to her or otherwise).

He had never opened up to anyone after his father died and his mother left. His uncle had no knowledge that he had ever been scared of thunderstorms (he was still scared of them to this day), nor had his uncle known that he’d always wanted a yellow lab named Banjo. His uncle did, however, know of his numerous girlfriends and all the hearts he had broken. His uncle did know about the time that he had reached his breaking point and verbally abused their maid. His uncle did know about the instance in which he had nearly beaten the poor woman for simply asking for help in reaching the top shelf.

Nicholas tried to forget it.

Which is why he tried to dodge the question. “I used to pretend I was sick when I had a test in school.” At Mia’s “we all did that” response, he let out a humorless laugh and searched for something that did not involve him opening up. He knew he would have to tell her about his dark side, the side that he so desperately wished would die. But now was not the time. Not when she was just beginning to trust him.

“Sometimes, I pour chocolate milk in my cereal.” Every single day throughout college, in fact.

“I,” Mia said, her small thumb chasing his bigger one around, “am deathly afraid of jellyfish.”

Just like he was deathly afraid of needles. The last time he’d gotten a shot for anything was when he was 17, and he hadn’t gone back since.

It was his turn. “I haven’t danced with you since your birthday.”

She almost pinned down his thumb.

She looked at him and returned to the thumb war. “That’s a fact, not a secret.”

He smiled at her, internally thanking her for giving him that last push that he needed to tell her what, in fact, was the secret.

“Well, the secret is,” he chuckled as Mia pinned down his thumb and smiled at him in victory, “I still want to.”

That night, they shared much about each other. She told him what her favorite color was (soft pink), and admitted that she did not, indeed, love Andrew.

It was through these words that the bright, caring, genuine princess managed to slowly dismantle his carefully constructed walls. She discovered two of his greatest fears, and she smiled, not condescendingly, but rather out of understanding. He told her why he loved to cook and that he had originally planned on going to culinary school and becoming a chef; his uncle, however, had other plans and steered him towards politics. Despite the progress she had made in disassembling his facade, he still refused to tell her that it had never been his plan to steal the throne. He didn’t tell her that his uncle was evil. He didn’t tell her that the scars on his face had not come from riding accidents, like she believed, but rather they came from Viscount Mabrey himself. His uncle was a bad man, perhaps, but it didn’t mean that there wasn’t good left in him.

The two fell asleep around midnight. And when they woke up, and when Nicholas looked down at the beautifully innocent and caring princess, he just wished that he could wake up to her face every morning for the rest of his life.

But, as for now, he wasn’t going to tell her.


	2. The Man Behind the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Consort. Whatever.

He couldn’t remember his father.

It wasn’t a terrible thing; it was simply a fact.

He couldn’t remember the sound of his father’s voice, the feel of his father’s hand upon his cheek, the memory of him sitting upon his father’s shoulders. He couldn’t recall the nights his father had stayed up late to make sure he was alright or the time he had taken to try and teach him how to read.

Every time Nicholas tried to recall his father, nothing of importance came to mind.

In recent years, the image has become more grainy, but if he concentrates hard enough, he can recall the face of William Devereaux: blond hair, electric blue eyes, a sharp jawline, high forehead, and – frankly – bushy eyebrows.

He may not have remembered his dad, but he knew enough: William Devereaux had attended the University of Oxford, choosing to study mathematics and philosophy. He had been arranged to marry Joanna Devereaux (née Windsor) at the age of thirteen, and he had married her on April 16, 1980.

Public records handed him information; they didn’t tell him of the man his father was.

Nicholas scoffed. His father was more of a page in a textbook than he was a paragraph in Nicholas’s own story.

He didn’t know the difference between fact and fiction when it came to his father; his uncle had told him things, but it was merely to convince Nicholas to pursue the throne of Genovia.

That’s why he paid attention to public records and, yes, Wikipedia.

In the years following his reluctant attempted coup, he had tried to block his uncle from his mind.

But upon his attempted closure of an unwanted past, a new story sprung forth, filling his once torn pages with fresh color.

Mia was an open book; she spilled her secrets almost willingly. She was not afraid to love, and the walls of her heart were easily removed.

He, on the other hand, was a book that could only be opened by a select few. Throughout most of his life, the people he had let in had only disappointed him. He kept to himself, and he hated revealing secrets. He detested vulnerability and hardly saw any use for it.

The two opposing personalities normally got along fairly well, but it was when Mia wanted to learn more that he shut her out, more forcefully each time it was brought up.

Despite his smooth nature and seemingly high self-respect, he had developed a list of insecurities about himself that he never cared to share. Growing up, he had seemed like a boy who had it all together; inwardly, however, he was breaking more and more with each breath. It didn’t matter that he was a lord in a small country in Europe – he was never enough in anyone’s eyes, and it cut deep within him.

So when Mia came along, he felt himself slowly being pieced back together again. The process was slow – he never divulged information that she needed to know.

Somehow, she managed to show him that he was enough for her.

And, with that, he told her about all of the hideous things about himself – the physical and verbal abuse of his uncle’s maid, the reason behind the scars on his face, the bullies who caused him to adopt a façade, his mother’s leaving, his pain and regret over trying to usurp her, and everything else in the entire world that had ever made him feel like shit.

He had expected her to walk away. To tell him that, no, she just couldn’t handle being with a man who had that much red in his ledger.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she pulled him closer, embracing him and whispering over and over again in his ear: “I love you. You are enough. You don’t have to do anything. You are enough.”

Six years after their first meeting, he was wandering in the courtyard garden, absorbing the news.

He was going to be a father.

Despite the overwhelming joy that he was now feeling, insecurity showed its revolting face yet again.

All because he couldn’t remember his father.

How could he be a father when he never had a reputable example to live up to?

How could he be a father when he didn’t know what it was like to have one?

How could ever be anything but a man so broken that he could never piece himself together? It was his wife, his amazing wife, who had healed him in the first place.

Nicholas had no doubt that Mia had already told – among others – her grandparents and Lilly. His theory was proven correct when he saw Joe weaving his way through the finely trimmed hedges to reach Nicholas.

Joe wasn’t a smiling type of man. Often, one just knew if and when Joe was amused by something. Today was no different.

Joe stood in front of him, his smile not on his lips but in his eyes. “You’re worried.” There was no greeting, just a simple statement.

Nicholas looked up at the older man, who, despite his age, looked remarkably youthful. Mia had always said it was the twinkle in his eyes, and now...well, Nicholas couldn’t deny it.

Joe raised his eyebrows and spoke again. “Are you?”

Nicholas thought about lying; truly, he did. He sucked in a breath, preparing his silvertongue for a wave of words that would hold no value to either man. But as he opened his mouth, only a single syllable popped out.

“Yup.”

Joe nodded his head slowly and deliberately, turning to sit on the bench that Nicholas had found during his earlier pacing.

The two men sat in silence for several minutes (Nicholas studied his watch, trying to take his mind off of Joe’s eyes burning into his soul – it was exactly 6 minutes and 42 seconds) before Joseph said anything.

“You’re just like your dad.”

Nicholas raised his head sharply and looked at Joe. The wide-eyed boy sitting before the older man had hundreds of different questions to ask, and he didn’t know which was the most important.

“What?”

Joe chuckled. Had it been anyone else, Nicholas might have said it was humorless, but Joe’s laughter had warmth to it.

Nicholas, still trying to make his mind just choose a stupid question, managed to squeak out, “How could you possibly know?”

Joe squeezed Nicholas’s shoulder with his left hand. “I knew your father. He was a good man, and he was a lot like you. The only obvious difference is your hair color.”

Nicholas just stared.

“He was good friends with my little brother.”

Joe has a brother? Nicholas thought.

Between each sentence, Joe cast a glance to the shocked young man by his side. “Your father...he wanted to be a teacher. He cared about children, much like you.” At Nicholas’s wide eyes, he chuckled and nudged him with his shoulder. “I’ve known about your volunteer hours and donations to the orphanages before you knew Mia even existed.”

Nicholas didn’t know what to make of it. He didn’t know what to make of any of this, in fact.

“Your father was loyal to a fault. He was skilled with words, and that’s a big reason as to why he was such a fantastic speaker. And, frankly, he was one of the most intelligent men I’ve ever met.”

“Bet he didn’t try to stage a palace coup,” Nicholas muttered under his breath as he finally looked away.

“No,” Joe said. His words were simple. “But if doubt was a person, your father was it. He didn’t know what expectations – if any – he could live up to. His loyalties were tested. He kept to himself, never letting his guard down. That is, until you were born.”

Nicholas furrowed his brow and looked back at Joseph.

“You did something to him, Nicholas. It wasn’t anything bad, just...he loved you.”

Nicholas pursed his lips and nodded, looking away. Joe wasn’t one to withhold information unless he deemed it important to do so, and he was clearly doing so now.

“Do you know how your father died, Nicholas?”

That was the only thing about his father that had been seared into his memory. He refused to look at the public records.

He clenched his jaw and nodded his head. “It was a natural disaster.” After a slight pause, he said, “It was a tornado.”

Joe nodded his head slightly. “Yes. It was the only Genovian tornado I can remember, and certainly the only you lived through. You had been outside, being a little boy and playing in the dirt, trying to catch as many tadpoles as your little hands could carry. And your father was looking after you. There was no ditch when the tornado came. Your father shielded you with his body. It’s not clear as to what exactly killed him, but it had to have been a large piece of debris.”

Nicholas looked back at Joseph, a silent way of telling him to continue.

Joe patted his back and stood. “You know, son, forgetting is often a coping mechanism.”

Nicholas clenched his jaw and nodded slowly.

“I think that’s what happened with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also originally on fanfiction.net. Also, I can't italicize because it won't let me do it on mobile and I can't access AO3 from my computer.


	3. The Art of Lying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They play a game.

The two sat on the floor across from each other, a bowl of buttered popcorn sitting between them. She cocked her head, narrowing her brown eyes, trying to decipher him.

 

“Say it again,” she said.

 

He resisted the urge to smile at the 22-year-old queen wearing Snoopy pajama pants and one of his shirts that was far too large for her. Her hair was lazily braided to the side, and any trace of nervousness that had been with her before had left her hands. She leaned forward, taking a handful of extra-buttered popcorn, her eyes not leaving his face.

 

He was often struck by how young she was, how young they both were. They were old enough to govern a country – a small country, but a country nonetheless – but not so old that life weighed them down. He nodded slowly.

 

“Two truths,” he said slowly, carefully, trying to gauge whether or not she was onto him. “And a lie.” He popped his knuckles, watching as it subtly unraveled his opponent. “Number one: I have two siblings.”

 

She licked her lips, squinting at him, twirling the simple diamond ring on her finger. She bit her top lip, carefully calculating her decision. “Truth,” she answered hesitantly.

 

“Number two: I have never been to New York City.”

 

The queen leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, wrinkling her nose, trying desperately to read the man sitting before her. Even more hesitantly than before, she answered.

 

“That is a...truth?” She spoke the words slowly, trying to determine if he had given her any indication to the correct answer. When he didn’t, she nodded her head twice and repeated herself. “Truth.”

 

Maintaining eye contact, he spoke again. “Number three: I wish I had grown up in America.”

 

Mia laughed at this, a sound that reminded him of brilliant summer skies. “I know  _ that _ one,” she said confidently. “That one is definitely, for sure, 100% a  _ lie _ ,” she said, playfully shaking her head at him.

 

Nicholas nodded, still not revealing which answers were the truths and which was the lie. “Okay.”

 

Mia raised her eyebrows at her fiancé. “Well?”

 

“You missed two of them,” he said flatly.

 

Her eyes widened in surprise and she screeched, “ _ What _ ?!” loud enough to wake the castle.

 

At Nicholas’s urgent shushing and failed attempt to conceal his amusement, Mia glanced around before hissing, “What did I miss?” at him.

 

“You got the first one right.”

 

Mia was clearly shocked by this new information. “So you  _ have _ been to New York?”

 

He smiled coolly in response.

 

“And you  _ did _ want to grow up in America?” she said, throwing a handful of popcorn at him.

 

Nicholas shrugged, picking up a piece and popping it in his mouth. “I still think I would have turned out different – better, maybe – if I had grown up there. Granted, I may not have ever you, or I might have been worse, but still...America is better than what I had growing up.”

 

Before she could say anything else, he nodded to her. “Your turn.”

 

He watched as the queen slipped into her professional persona. Her eyes hardened in determination, her mouth was set in a straight line, her shoulders straightened, and she sat up taller.

 

She wasn’t as good as he was, no matter how much she refused to admit it. Lies, deceit – those slipped off his tongue as easily as asking where the restrooms were; truths, enlightenment – those, again, slipped off his silvertongue as if he was answering the question of 2+2.

 

But he didn’t discourage her.

 

She didn’t need to learn the practice of lying; he was good enough at it for the both of them. She  _ did _ need to give off the air of confidence, even if she knew very little about the subject on which she was speaking. This was merely practice.

 

She held eye contact with him, and he knew that he should probably answer dishonestly.

 

He wouldn’t.

 

But he probably should.

 

“Number one,” she said, her voice cool. He could hear the effort it took for her not to give away anything. He was good at this; it was his game. “I love  _ Harry Potter _ .”

 

“Truth,” he responded, no hesitation in his voice.

 

She had gotten significantly better at concealing her surprise; he had to give her that. Truth be told, he didn’t even know if he had surprised her by his quick (and probably correct) response.

 

“Number two,” she continued, her voice just as cool and even as it had been. “I really like dogs.”

 

This one stumped him.

 

He watched her body language, and he had to hand it to her – she had learned all the tricks of the trade. There were no visual indications that she was lying, but everything he had ever known about her contradicted that statement.

 

“Skip,” he answered, equally as cool as she was.

 

She raised an eyebrow, not slipping out of her professional air. “Number three.” She leaned forward, drilling into his soul with her eyes, now having perfected the art of psyching her opponent out. “I,” she said, punctuating her words evenly, “hate candy.”

 

He was legitimately impressed.

 

The simple statements had stunned him, and he was currently mulling over the possibility of his first answer being wrong.

 

He didn’t know if she liked dogs; she seemed fine around Maurice, but that was her grandmother’s dog, and therefore, she was obligated to like Maurice. He had never seen her eat candy a day in his life, so he mulled over the possibilities again.

 

After a two-minute period of Nicholas trying to determine Mia’s thoughts, he finally had his answers. “I’m going to change my first answer,” he began, holding up his hand before his fiancée could protest. “To be fair, you changed yours.” At Mia’s pout, he smiled. “Three times.”

 

“Number one,” he said, holding up his index finger, “is a lie.”

 

She blinked. It was a small visual indication of surprise, but it was enough for someone of his expertise to recognize.

 

“Number two,” he continued, holding up another finger, “is a shocking truth. I honestly didn’t think you liked any dogs aside from Mo.”

 

She just glared at him.

 

“Number three,” he said, laughing, holding up a third finger, “is also a truth. You seem like the no-candy type. Well, except for chocolate.”

 

She stuck her tongue out at him, and he laughed again, dodging another handful of popcorn. “Poophead.”

 

He rocked back in laughter, throwing his head back. “Poophead?” he asked incredulously. “You seriously just called me a  _ poophead _ ?”

 

She continued to glare at him.

 

Nicholas, still laughing, said, “The last time someone called me a poophead was second grade.”

 

Mia shrugged, a smile dancing on her lips. “Not that you know of.”

 

Nicholas smiled and stretched. “I’m turning in for the night.” He stood and kissed Mia’s forehead. “Goodnight.”

 

She smiled. “I love you,” she said, squeezing his hand.

 

“Love you, too.”

 

And it was the most truthful statement he’d ever uttered.


	4. Royal and Unconditional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little something that I had written about a year ago. It's probably one of my favorites, and I thought people might enjoy it. I'll be incapacitated for the next couple of weeks, so……

“I love you.”

 

He says it like it’s the only thing that matters, as if he could now die happy having said those words. His blue eyes are brilliant and intense – they match the sky, she thinks.

 

It calms her.

 

She stands on her tiptoes and kisses him, letting him know that she feels the same.

 

**X-X-X-X-X**

 

“I love you,” he says when he passes her in the hallway, reaching out and squeezing her hand.

 

The words are a lifeline, and she grips them tightly in both fists.

 

She takes a breath and walks on to face her mother. She’s ready.

 

**X-X-X-X-X**

 

“I love you,” he says as they stroll through the gardens.

 

She looks at him, still surprised at how easily he says it. He surveys the pink roses that decorate the lawn. He looks to her and smiles, and she can’t help but notice how much younger he looks now that he’s escaped his uncle’s abusive grip.

 

She squeezes his hand, and he kisses her forehead.

 

She wants life to just be this way all the time.

 

**X-X-X-X-X**

 

“I love you.”

 

It’s past midnight, and he’s brought her to the kitchen, making her a dessert.

 

She smiles and feels the sting of tears jump into her eyes. He’s known how difficult it’s been for her to sleep (she tries to tell him not to worry; after all, she  _ is _ queen and crippling stress and anxiety is just part of the job; it doesn’t matter – he worries anyways).

 

She slides off the countertop and makes her way over to him, pulling him into a hug. He smells like cinnamon and books and the stars, if stars could even have a smell. He returns her embrace, and she doesn’t ever want to let go.

 

But she does.

 

He finishes making the dessert, transferring it to a plate. He presents the dish to her with a flare, stating in an embarrassing accent, “Dessert is served.”

 

**X-X-X-X-X**

 

“I love you,” he whispers.

 

The stars blink down at them, and he looks so at peace, so young, so happy.

 

She hardly ever sees him like this, she realizes.

 

And she’d give up everything she ever loved to see him this way all the time.

 

**X-X-X-X-X**

 

“I love you,” he says on bended knee, holding a ring in his hand. He searches her eyes with his, and all he sees are tears.

 

She falls into his arms, holding him close. “Yes,” she manages to gasp, and she feels him relax against her.

 

“Oh, thank God,” he mutters, and she laughs. He slips the ring on her finger, and she kisses him.

 

“I love you,” she says, resting her forehead against his.

 

It’s her favorite one yet.

 

**X-X-X-X-X**

 

“I love you,” he says as she flits about, stressing over their wedding. His words anchor her, and she silently thanks him.

 

She hates to see him leave, but he has his responsibilities, and she has hers.

 

**X-X-X-X-X**

 

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice barely reaching her ears. He holds her hands in his, his eyes shimmering with tears. She’s never seen him look so happy.

 

Her smile matches his, and she’s glad that she chose him.

 

He promises to love, honor, and cherish her, and she knows that it’s a promise he fully intends to keep. Already, even before their wedding, he’s kept that promise, and she tries not to cry.

 

She slips the ring onto his finger, and it feels so  _ right _ . When the priest announces them as man and wife, he takes a step forward and kisses her.

 

“I love you,” he whispers, and she’s the only one who hears him.

 

She kisses him again. “I love you, too.”

 

_ This _ one, she thinks, is her favorite.

 

**X-X-X-X-X**

 

“I love you.” His eyes don’t move from the book he’s reading, but she knows the words are directed to her. She rolls onto her side, and he reaches for her hand.

 

He stays up late to read, and she falls asleep, her hand in his. When he finally turns in for the night, he kisses her forehead and tells her again just how much he loves her.

 

As he turns off the lamp, she allows herself to smile.

 

**X-X-X-X-X**

 

“I love you.”

 

The night is heavy, and clouds have covered the moon and the stars. She cries in his arms, and she knows he’s trying to be strong for her, for both of them.

 

The emptiness in the room is haunting and the absence of her child’s cries is terrifying. She can’t look in the direction of the childless crib.

 

Those are the words he should have been saying to their first child.

 

She cries harder, and his arms tighten around her, and he’s struggling to bear the burden of the world.

 

The weight has forced him to his knees, and he is still struggling to hold on, even though it’s breaking him.

 

But she can’t find the strength to thank him.

 

**X-X-X-X-X**

 

“I love you.” His voice is broken and his eyes are tired. He’s pushed on, taking care of everything while she laid in bed, mourning the loss of their son.

 

She looks at him, cracking under the pressure of life, and the hurt that greets her is almost more than she can bear. She presses her lips together, and he lies beside her, placing his head in her lap.

 

And he cries.

 

**X-X-X-X-X**

 

“I love you,” he says. Some of the happiness has returned to his voice, and his eyes are smiling again, but she doesn’t have to look hard to see the sadness that still lurks inside him.

 

The sun is shining, and he’s managed to convince her to take a walk with him.

 

He’s done so much for her, and he’s holding himself together with tape and glue, she realizes. The cracks in his façade are becoming larger, and soon he won’t be able to keep pushing on.

 

She stops in her tracks, and he turns, his eyes searching hers. She pulls him into her arms, and she cries into his shoulder for a moment.

 

He holds her tightly, and she can tell he’s fighting tears.

 

“I love you,” she sobs into his shirt, “so much.”

 

He doesn’t cry this time, but when he pulls away, she can see the brokenness he’s been trying to hide.

 

She reaches out and takes his hand, giving it a squeeze. “We’re going to get through this,” she says.

 

**X-X-X-X-X**

 

“I love you.”

 

She’s pregnant – again – and this time, they’re taking every precaution possible.

 

He’s sitting with his feet on the coffee table, the newspaper in one hand and a cup of hot chocolate in the other.

 

She loves how he says it randomly, as if it’s the most important thing in the world to him and he  _ must _ say it at that moment.

 

She smiles.

 

His happiness is back, and so is his smile.

 

**X-X-X-X-X**

 

“I love you.”

 

For the first time, the words aren’t directed to her, but the child cradled in his arms. They’ve decided on the name Juliet, and she knows that their daughter will have him wrapped around her finger.

 

She smiles up at him, her arms aching to hold her daughter again. As if he can read her mind, he carefully transfers the baby to her. “And I love you,” he says to her, and she has never been so proud to have married him.

 

**X-X-X-X-X**

 

“I love you.” His voice is muffled into the pillow, and she’s sure that he’s going to fall asleep before she will, but he looks up, and his smile brings back his youthfulness.

 

She loves him more than any words can fathom.

 

She hears padded footsteps running towards them, and he smiles, rolling onto his back, preparing for the attack of their two children.

 

He gathers them into his arms, and she smiles.

 

“I love you, too.” She knows he hears her, and that’s all that’s important.

 

**X-X-X-X-X**

 

“I love you,” she says, placing a kiss on his forehead.

 

He’s fallen asleep, their three-month-old daughter lying on his chest. He gently strokes her back, and his chest rises and falls with each breath.

 

And this, she knows for a fact, is her favorite “I love you” of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it, love it, hate it? Leave a comment below or go to my ask box at my tumblr ( @ my-glasses-are-dirty )

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this before on my fanfiction.net account (clairenbearen), but AO3 has more variety and I like it better. If you've read it before, I hope you liked it then and I hope you like it now!  
> Also this is like the only work I'm still proud of to this day, so…there's that.


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